Frozen Gold
by Heritik
Summary: The President's Daughter: A reckless, stupid decision lands Aurelia Snow on a train to district five to pay for her crimes in the very games her father orchestrated. But whispers of change are blowing over Panem, and this time the Gamemakers' cameras aren't the only ones watching. [Aka The Story Of The Monumental 47th Hunger Games]
1. Chapter 1: Descent

**(A/N): Hello, and welcome to the wonderful, peaceful world of Panem! Bathrooms are on the left, execution rooms are on the right, I hope you enjoy your stay! (Because you can never leave.)**

 **There are going to be a few chapters of setting stuff up before we get to the pre-games festivities, so bear with me.**

 **...Oh, remember that propaganda speech they play at the beginning of the Reapings? Might wanna look that up after you read this. Or before.**

* * *

 _Palace Gardens, the Capitol._

 _It was late at night, far_ _too late for me to be awake_ _. I'd had a nightmare, and couldn't go back to sleep, so I'd gone looking for my father._ _I was just outside the rose garden when I heard him whispering softly. I quickly ducked behind the boundary wall, listening close. He was talking to the roses, which he only ever did when something was bothering him greatly. He spoke quietly, and I had to strain my ears to hear him._

" _...Will not fall like before. They're stronger now, with help from the others..."_

 _He moved closer to my hiding spot, my heart pounding against my ribcage. But it didn't seem like he'd found me yet. He resumed talking, brushing a hand against the white petals. I stayed and listened, scared out of my wits, for what felt like an hour. Finally, after plucking out a rose, father got up to leave. But just as he was about to cross the gate, he stopped and turned around. I wasn't so sure I was hidden then because, when he spoke, his voice was different, much softer. It was the tone he reserved only for me._

" _Enjoy all of this while it lasts," he said, looking around at the palace grounds. As he turned back to me, what he said sent shivers up my spine. His voice carried fear I'd never known him capable of feeling._

" _There is only so much time until it all comes crashing down on our heads."_

 _I didn't sleep that night, my little six-year-old brain trying hard to figure out what he meant. Of course, by the next morning I had forgotten all about it, and father never spoke of it again. That night just faded away among an ocean of memories, and life went on as usual. Nothing came crashing down on anybody's heads._

 _I should've known that my luck would eventually run out._

* * *

 _Presidential Palace, the Capitol._

"d-did you like it?"

I glance down at the steaming cup of light brown liquid in my hands, then back up at the trembling cook standing with hands clasped. He's clearly terrified.

"It's wonderful," I lie, gritting my teeth as I take a short sip.

"I t-thought it'd be a nice boost for your run..." the cook explains, twisting his finger nervously.

"Mhm," I mumble as I force the drink down my throat. My eyes fall on the clock on the wall. Five forty-five. If I don't leave soon, the sun will come up and everyone in the city will be awake.

I quickly gulp down the rest of the coffee, wincing as it burns my throat. "Thank you for that," I say with a forced smile, handing the empty cup back to the cook. He takes it and hurries off into the kitchen. I rise from the chair, pick up my water bottle and hook it onto my belt, and head out of the house. At the front gate I run into Cassius Renton, the new Head Gamemaker for this year. The last one was sacked in his second year itself, for killing off too many tributes via mutts. But father trusts Renton, so he must surely be good. I politely nod as we pass by each other.

"Going for a run?" he asks.

"Yep!" I reply, bouncing on my feet. The coffee is already getting to me.

"How about you swing by the Plaza and bring me some muffins while you're at it?" he asks, flashing a grin.

"Only if you'll tell me what this year's arena is!" I counter. Renton tilts his head back and lets out a hearty laugh. He pretends to wipe away a tear.

"No chance. All I'm allowed to say is that it's going to be very close to all our hearts," he says, smirking.

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. Close to our hearts? What could that mean?

"Anyways, I should get going before the ruckus starts," I say, excusing myself. Renton waves, then heads off towards the front porch. I step out onto the road outside the gates, looking around. Something unusual strikes me: there are no guards. Usually there are a couple of machine gun-loaded peacekeepers stationed just under the boundary wall, but their posts are empty right now. Oh well, maybe father changed the shifts.

Once outside the palace grounds, I set off on my usual path: along the chariot roadway, around the city circle, stopover at Cicely Plaza for a short rest, then turn around and follow the same path home.

I start at a slow jog, picking up the pace as I go along. Even at this time in the morning, there are a few people roaming about. I pretend to not see them.

As I'm approaching the other end of the chariot roadway, a feeling of boredom creeps over me. I've been following the same path for three whole weeks now, and it's becoming _too_ familiar. I need to find a new path, somewhere I don't go regularly.

I stop just at the corner where I turn towards the Cicely Plaza, going over the map of the city in my head. I spot a bridge on my right, connecting the city circle to the outer fringes of the Capitol. My instincts immediately tell me not to go there. The outer fringes are where the...less fortunate live. They're still better than the districts, but there are reasons for their exclusion from most of the important clubs and parties.

But then, that's pretty much the only place I'm not familiar with in the Capitol. Besides, I don't really have any valuables on me. What's the worst that could happen? I'll get my water bottle stolen? This isn't district twelve, you know. Nobody's that desperate.

I cross the bridge, strolling at a calm pace to look around. The streets here are narrower, the buildings much smaller. There's the occasional fountain or statue placed here and there, but it's very clear that this place isn't nearly as rich as the main city.

I move deeper into the outer fringes, an eerie silence hanging in the air. I know it's early in the morning, but there's no signs of life here. Every window is either blackened out or has the curtains drawn.

I kick a stone lying on the ground, sending it flying down an alley. I wait for the sound of it hitting the pavement to echo, but that doesn't happen. Instead, I hear someone yelp in surprise. I look up and see a man fallen down, clutching at his temple. I sprint over and crouch down next to him.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't see you!" I cry as I help him to his feet. "a-are you fine?"

He shrugs me off, looking nervously to his right. I follow his gaze, to one of the many stairwells that lead down to the underground network. That's where all the supply trains to the districts run from. This man looks too... rugged, too hard-edged to be a government official. Why would he be going down there?

As if in response to my thoughts, a peacekeeper suddenly appears from around the corner. She has her gun drawn, aimed straight at the man's head. Before she can pull the trigger, I jump in between, holding my hands up.

"Slow down. What's going on?" I ask, trying to sound calm. The peacekeeper hasn't lowered her gun. Doesn't she recognize me?

"Step aside, kid. That man is dangerous," she warns, her voice seething with resentment. I can't help but feel like some of it is directed at me. I turn around to glance at the man. He's glaring past my shoulder at the peacekeeper, eyes filled with defiance.

"What makes him dangerous?" I ask. I don't know why I'm defending him. Shouldn't I be on the peacekeeper's side?

The peacekeeper moves closer, her gun almost pressing against my forehead. "He's a rebel. He's stolen information from the Capitol," she says.

I take an involuntary step back. Suddenly, I feel a strong grip on my shoulder, and my feet leave the ground as I'm tossed aside. The man charges at the peacekeeper, knocking her gun out of her hand. He tackles her to the ground, and the two begin wrestling to knock each other out.

I watch from the sides, confused. I felt something tug at me when the peacekeeper said the word 'rebel', something I have rarely ever felt in the seventeen years I've lived: excitement.

 _But I'm a Snow._ Rebels are our enemies, brutes who just want to plunge Panem into chaos. Aren't they? _I don't know._

The man punches the peacekeeper. She catches his fist and twists his arm.

Father always told me how much we lost in the Dark Days. How many soldiers died to keep the rebels at bay, how much of the city was damaged.

The peacekeeper worms her way on top of the man. He yanks away her helmet and smashes her nose in.

But what about the districts? The ones we mercilessly gunned down and bombed into oblivion? Didn't they lose so much more than us? We're not the ones starving to death. Are they really the bad guys?

The peacekeeper has the man pinned down. She brings out her knife, ready to plunge it into his chest. My Capitol, ready to plunge its glimmering, spotless blade into the beating heart of its twelve districts.

What was that speech that father always gave at the Peacekeeper initiation ceremonies? _"It is our responsibility to safeguard the country's future, to secure peace at all costs"._ Does this qualify as peace?

The peacekeeper lifts her arm up high, the edge of the knife catching the sunlight and scattering it into hundreds of colours.

My hand brushes against something cold. I look down, and see the gun sitting in the dust right beside me. I pick it up, brushing the dirt off of its handle.

The peacekeeper snarls at the man, a wicked grin on her face.

I lift up the barrel, carefully aiming it at the spot where her skull joins her spine. I'm doing what I was always told to. I'm remembering the past. I'm safeguarding the future. For _all_ of Panem.

The peacekeeper drives her arm down.

I pull the trigger.

* * *

 **(A/N): Let me know how it was down in the reviews. I've got some big things planned for this story.**


	2. Chapter 2: From Paradise

**(A/N): Forgot to put this in the last chapter, so here it is: DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE HUNGER GAMES. If I did, this wouldn't be considered Fanfiction.**

* * *

 _What-...what have I done?_

The man wriggles himself free from under the peacekeeper's body, looking at me with eyes wide. I stare blankly at the gaping hole in the back of her head. Whatever's _left_ of her head. Her blood trickles out of the wound, a crimson river marred by dust and dirt and yellow brain fluid. She's dead. She's _dead._

The roar of an engine fills the air, steadily getting louder. The man takes a last long look at me. For a second it almost seems like he's going to stay and face whatever's coming. But then he gets up and dashes down the stairwell. I watch him disappear into the underground, his figure swallowed up by the darkness. Moments later, an armored truck appears from the road that brought me here. They've come from the main headquarters in the city circle.

The truck pulls up to a stop right in front of me. I drop the gun and put my hands up, palms open. A squad of peacekeepers rushes out of the back, weapons drawn. They seem hesitant, looking back and forth between their fallen comrade and the gun at my feet.

"I did it..." I confess, to ease their confusion. "I shot her."

One of them comes to me with a pair of silver bracelets in his hand. He places them on my wrists, and a magnetic current glues them together. Handcuffs. They taught us about these in school once. If I try to escape now, a little plate on the inside will administer a powerful electric shock and instantly paralyze me.

They shove me into the back of the truck, five of them getting in after me. As soon as everyone is in, the truck jerks to a start. I sit as still as a stone. There are no windows on this thing, but I don't need to look outside. I know exactly where they're taking me. And it's not their headquarters.

My fears are confirmed when I hear a heavy gate being pushed open. I recognize the sound. I've heard it enough times.

The truck slows to a stop, and the back door swings open. Two Avoxes are standing there, their faces frozen in shock. One of the peacekeepers yanks me out, holding me by the handcuffs on my wrists.

"where is the President?" he asks gruffly. The Avoxes look almost apologetically at me. They wordlessly lead us into the house, through the labyrinthine hallways and corridors.

The trance I fell into after the gun went off is slowly fading, the rest of the world coming back into focus. I'm scared. What was wrong with me? How could I do such a thing?! Father is surely going to kill me for this. Execution, being strung up by the neck and left to suffocate to death. That's the punishment for murder.

The Avoxes stop in front of an elegant wooden door, the Capitol's seal moulded onto it. Father's study room. They press a small button on the wall, and a moment later my father's voice rings through the speaker.

"come in."

The Avoxes slide the door open, the smell of books and roses flooding the passageway. The peacekeeper coughs, clearly not accustomed to it. My father raises his head off the thick manuscript in his hands, peering over his reading glasses with an eyebrow raised. He shoots up when he sees me with my hands tied together like a criminal.

"what is the meaning of this?" he asks, storming over. I pretend to be very interested in the floor to avoid making eye contact with father.

"we found 'er in the outer rings, sir. With a gun in 'er hand and my sister lying dead at 'er feet!" he says, voice rising. Sister...? I examine him more closely, the similarities between him and the one I shot now becoming clearer. He has the same shade of blonde hair, and a very similar face.

Father narrows his eyes, skeptical of the story. "is this true?" he asks, turning to me. I nod, too afraid to speak.

"remove these shackles from my daughter's wrists and leave us for now, Argo." he says to the peacekeeper. His face twitches oddly in an attempt to suppress his rage.

"you cannot let this be. She _killed_ my sister! What am I to tell her children, that their mother's murderer is roaming free and safe?!" he yells.

"voice down, soldier!" father booms. The peacekeeper bites his tongue, his face burning red, but he obeys. He presses a key against the metal surface of the handcuffs, and they open up and slide off. The peacekeeper turns around to leave. As the Avoxes take him back down the hallway, father sighs.

"do not worry, Argo," he says, looking at me with fury in his eyes. "...justice will not be denied."

He drags me violently into the study, slamming the door shut after him. He's enraged beyond belief.

"how did this happen?" he asks, trying to sound calm but failing.

"I-I was just...I was in t-the-"

"stop yammering and talk straight!" father yells. My knees buckle in fear and I fall down onto the chair. I've never felt this terrified before. I struggle to breathe, my heart threatening to tear free from my chest.

"I- I went to the outer fringes just t-to look around, when..."

should I tell father about the man? He's already angry enough to kill me right here and now, I don't know how he'll react to finding out that I also aided a rebel.

...But then, I'm going to be hanged anyway. Why keep secrets?

"when what?" father asks, urging me on. I take a deep breath.

"when I ran across a rebel spy. The peacekeeper tried to kill him, and I-... I couldn't just stand by," I complete.

Father's expressions shift at a hundred miles an hour, first shock, then confusion, then back to rage. He slams a hand on his desk, tipping the lamp over. It shatters on the ground, but he seems unaware of it.

"what were you thinking, Aurelia?!" he explodes. I sink deeper into the chair, as if it could somehow offer me protection.

"I wasn't," I lie. Father grabs at his hair out of frustration. He sits down next to me, looking defeated. The dull light streaming through the curtains falls on his face and illuminates the tear running down his cheek. Seeing him in such pain, my stomach drops, and it feels like someone punched a hole through my heart. The only other time father ever cried was at mother's funeral.

"f-father... I'm sorry," I say, filling my voice with all the sorrow I can muster.

Father looks up at me, his eyes bloodshot. "no, my dear, _I'm_ sorry. I cannot get you out of this mess," he says. The statement hits hard, but I've already resigned to my death. I know I deserve it for what I did.

Father looks me in the eyes with a gaze I can't decipher. The cogs in his brain are turning.

"ever since your mother died, Aurelia, you have been my only family. I have cared for you more than anything else." He says, getting up. He walks over to the window, staring outside with his hands clasped behind his back. I don't know where he's going with this, but a part of me is hoping he's found a way to spare me from the gallows. Despite my efforts, I can feel that hope rising.

"I feel it would be too cruel of me to arrange for my own child's execution. And frankly, I don't think I would be able to. You simply mean far too much to me to just end your life like this," he continues. I almost smile upon hearing those words. He's figured something out. I'm not going to be hanged.

But when he turns back around, with his eyes redder and more pained than before, that hope comes crashing down.

"I said I cannot get you out of this mess, and I meant it. But that doesn't mean you _have_ to die..." He says. I gulp. I don't like where this is going.

"the most I can do now is to give you a chance. A chance to _fight_ for your right to live."

I stumble out of the chair, backing into a corner. "no," I whisper. All those years of sitting by the T.V, watching in morbid fascination, begin to flood back to me. All the beheadings. The spears flying through the chest of some poor tribute. The horrible muttations. All of a sudden, that noose begins to seem rather friendly.

"Aurelia, you must trust me. This is the only way. I will do everything I can to get you out of that arena alive, I promise." Father says, gently holding my shoulders. I want nothing more than to get out, to just run away from everything in this world. But when father wraps his arms around me and pulls me in, I give up. I bury my face in his chest, letting the tears flow freely. I'm going to die. I'm going to die in the worst, most horrible way imaginable.

But it's okay. I _deserve_ to die.

* * *

"turn over."

I obey the doctor's commands, turning my head to the other side. A sharp pain pricks my scalp, then is quickly replaced by something cold. Just like a hundred times before over the past three hours.

"there, it's all done," the doctor says in her deadpan tone. She hands me a mirror as I get off the chair. I nearly break down again when I see my reflection, with the hideously undernourished, rough brown hair that's hanging off my head.

Father elected to send me to district Five. They're not as dirt-poor as most of the other districts, so my body and skin were left alone. But hair products aren't exactly common in the districts, and my hair would've been too out-of-place, so it had to be altered to fit in. But just dyeing it wasn't enough, no. They had to go and surgically _replace_ it.

"it's not my hair I'd be worried about if I were in your position," the doctor says, standing with her arms crossed. I pretend not to hear her. The last thing I need right now is sass, least of all from a hair stylist.

I hurry out of the clinic and into a car waiting outside. The sky's already turning dark. The car takes me to one of the underground stations, where a supply train will drop me off in district Five.

Father's there at the platform to see me off and say his goodbyes. He takes me into his arms once again, probably for the last time. We stay in a tight embrace for what feels like both an eternity and barely a single moment at the same time.

"things are changing out there," he says softly so only I can hear him. I pull away and look into his eyes. They have the same worry in them that I saw a glimpse of back in the rose garden so many years ago.

"father, what's going on?"I ask. I need to know. The way he said that makes me feel like something huge is happening, something much larger than just my current predicament.

But father remains silent. He blinks, and suddenly he's back to normal.

"goodbye, my dear child. We will see each other very soon," he says, forcing a smile. This is really happening. It's not a dream. The life I had is over. Even if I somehow survive, things will never be the same.

"at least tell me what the arena's like?" I ask. I need some kind of advantage if I'm to have any chance of winning. But father just pats me on the head.

"I don't need to," he says. I frown. Puzzles and mysteries always infuriate me, especially when my life is in danger.

Father lets go of me, and a peacekeeper escorts me to the second carriage from the back. Inside, there's a couple of locked crates and a few dozen barrels, and a table in one corner. Since district Five is the closest to the Capitol, I won't be needing to sleep on the train itself., so no arrangements were made for my accommodation.

I settle down on one of the crates, resting my chin on my palms. About five minutes later, a short siren blows, indicating that the train is about to start moving. Just as a peacekeeper comes to close the carriage door, a small, old woman comes rushing in, looking flustered.

"hello, Aurelia." She says, adjusting her glasses. I just nod in response. I don't feel like talking. But without warning, The woman comes and pulls me to my feet.

"hey!" I protest, "what do you think you're doing?!"

The woman walks in a circle around me, observing every inch of my body. I fold my arms self-consciously.

"my name is Cassi. I'm here to make you look less like a spoiled princess and more like an impoverished child. Let's start with your posture, shall we?" she says.

Without waiting for my approval, she proceeds to instruct me on standing with less confidence and grace, keeping my head low, back hunched, and shoulders raised. It's terribly uncomfortable and just feels _wrong_ , and by the time she decides that I've gotten it down, my back feels like it's about to snap. We then spend the next hour or so on getting rid of my Capitol accent. She makes me practice saying common phrases and names over and over, trying out different types of accents. This takes more time than 'correcting' my posture did, but it also hurts far, far less. After that, she tells me my new identity, and my new history. My name is not Aurelia Snow, it's Lise Curie. My mother is dead, my father works at one of the hydro plants, I have no siblings. I rarely ever leave the house, so not many people in the district know me.

By the time Cassi declares her work done, we're already at the district station. The carriage door slides open, and three peacekeepers escort me out.

The night sky is a lot more colourful here. There are so many stars and constellations that weren't visible back in the Capitol thanks to the constant glow that came from the buildings and rooftops.

The peacekeepers take me to a shoddy, derelict house, far away from the cleaner parts of the district. The door has no lock, and opens with a loud groan. They shove me inside, then slam the door shut. The moonlight streaming in through the broken windows isn't bright enough to be able to see in, and I stumble around in the dark until my feet brush against something soft. A mattress, god knows in what condition. I search around the room for a safer alternative despite knowing there isn't one, but my tiredness eventually overcomes my hesitation and I crash down onto the mattress. A decade's worth of dust bursts out of it, but I can't be bothered.

I rest my head down and close my eyes. It's been a _very_ long day. Tomorrow is the reaping. Tomorrow is the day I'll officially be thrown to my death.

...Won't it be hilarious if the escort accidentally picks out someone else's name?

* * *

 **Yes, Rel, that would be hilarious indeed. Too bad for you, I'm not that nice to my characters.**


	3. Chapter 3: Don't Fear the Reaper

**I was gonna name this chapter something serious, but just... couldn't. Anyways, it's not very long, but important stuff still happens here.**

 **Also LOOK AT THAT COVER IMAGE LOOK HOW COOL IT IS.**

* * *

"hey, kid, get up."

I groan at the voice, wishing for more sleep. Didn't I tell father not to wake me up so early on a Sunday morn-...

 _Oh._

I rise from the bed, my joints creaking in protest. God, I feel a hundred years old. I look up to face the man who woke me up. He must be my 'dad'. He's got a darker complexion, jet black hair, plain brown eyes, and all in all shares absolutely zero familial resemblance with me.

"Put these on and fix yerself up, reaping's beginning soon," he says, throwing a pile of dirty rags at me.

"wouldn't want to be late," I say with a laugh, trying to lighten my own mood with a little humor. It doesn't work, as I feel just as miserable as before, if not more.

I get onto my feet, taking a moment to stretch my stiff limbs. 'dad' pushes me into a tiny adjacent room that I'm assuming is his bedroom, and shuts the door after me. There's no lock on it, just like the main door outside. But then, this man doesn't really need locks. Nobody in their right minds would come _here_ to steal anything.

I hesitantly change clothes, putting on the itchy, loose-fitting top and trousers. I stare longingly at my Capitol attire. Why can't I wear that? District Five's supposed to be well-off, isn't it?

With a pained sigh, I say goodbye to those last remnants of my old life, and exit the room. 'dad' is already outside the house. He frowns at his watch. "we're late," he mutters, heading off down the path leading towards town. I follow along, staying a few steps behind him.

It's a five minute walk to the town square from 'dad's house. We meet nobody along the way, and when we arrive it's apparent that we are, in fact, quite late. The crowd has already assembled and the district escort is on stage, welcoming everyone in a slurred, stuttering speech. She's drunk. This is marvelous. Maybe she'll forget that she's supposed to pick my name.

'dad' doesn't even look back at me as he goes and takes up a spot among the sea of nervous parents, siblings, and elders. But his lack of attention towards me is compensated for tenfold by everyone else present, as I receive several perplexed and suspicious stares as I make my way into the section marked '17 F'. I stay at the edge of the group, unwilling to meet eyes with anybody. Nevertheless, I end up staring back at a tall boy in the fifteen-year-olds' section who's been craning his neck around to look at me since the moment I got here. His big brown eyes are filled with something close to recognition. I wink playfully at him, then immediately look away, mentally slapping myself. What the hell is wrong with me?

The escort, whose name is 'Valeiya Zickun' according to her drunken self, finally finishes her monologue when the reaping video begins. The anthem blares out of the speakers, my father's voice ebbing in and out between the trumpets as he reads the infamous speech. I watch the video closely, especially the part about district thirteen. I know this probably sounds silly, but there was a rumor back in school that they just use the exact same video file every year, and that the reporter is really in a studio in the Capitol itself. I never had the guts to ask father about it, though.

When the speech finally ends, the escort wastes no time in drama, diving straight into the reaping bowl marked 'girls'. The air goes silent as everyone holds their breaths. The girl next to me whimpers when the escort pulls out a slip. Despite knowing exactly what name is on it, I can feel my anxiety rising too. As the escort clears her throat, I begin to pray that she's accidentally picked out the wrong slip. Though that wouldn't do me much good, as they'd find a way to put me into the games regardless. But still, a girl can hope.

"the female tribute from district Five this year is..."

She tilts her head slightly, then flips the slip over. She was holding it upside down.

 _Please don't be my name, please don't be my name, please..._

It's not my name. Of _course_ it isn't my name. It's not Aurelia Snow.

"Lise Curry! I mean, er... _Curie_?" The escort announces, fixing her pronunciation quickly. Judging by the confused murmuring and head-turning that follows, it seems district Five has never seen or heard of Lise Curie before. One by one, all heads turn to the one new face they don't recognize: me.

I keep my eyes down, trying to remember everything Cassi taught me yesterday. But old habits die hard, especially the ones my father drilled into my brain ever since I learned to stand on my own feet, and I end up walking onto the stage with a well-rehearsed smile, apparently brimming with confidence. I can hear Cassi clucking in my ears. " _shoulders up, chin down! You are terrified, you are shocked, you want to wake up from this nightmare!_ ".

Father's plan was for me to be forgettable, to be the least interesting Victor in all of history so that nobody talks about Lise Curie in the years to come. I may not have blown it completely, but I've definitely thrown a wrench in there. Reapings are where we get to first see the tributes, and a non-Career who is neither terrified nor plainly acting tough always draws attention.

"my my, we have quite a looker, don't we!" the escort remarks. I just smile, taking my place on a circle marked on the stage. The escort goes to pick out a name from the male bowl, and I examine the female one as closely as I can without moving from my spot, trying to figure out how they ensured she'd pick my name out. Maybe _all_ those slips of paper have my name on them. Or maybe mine had some kind of special indication on it.

"Isaac Clarke!"

The escort's voice snaps me out of my thoughts. From the eighteen-year-olds' section, a boy about three inches taller than me walks out. He looks a little surprised, but that's it. He looks like he just got called to the principal's office, not to a televised child-slaughtering competition where he may very well die a brutal death.

As he strolls up the stage and takes place next to me, I try to size him up. He's not exceptionally muscular, but he looks fairly strong. And there's something in his eyes that unnerves me, but I can't quite put a finger on it. He's far more intimidating than a boy his size should be.

"shake hands, you two!" the escort commands. Isaac extends his hand, his smile making me want to turn around and run as far away from him as I can. It's almost like he's offering to dismember me right here, like he can't wait to carve my guts out. But I steel my nerves, shaking his hand. His grip is painfully tight, but I don't show it. I just smile back at him, reciprocating his glare. My message is clear: ' _bring it on_ '.

He's going to kill me.

* * *

After the reaping was over, they sent Isaac and I to our separate waiting rooms in the justice building to say goodbye to our families. So far I've bided my time by just sitting on the sofa provided and staring at the cobwebs on the roof. I know that 'dad' isn't going to come. I don't have anyone to say goodbye to over here. All I have to do is wait.

I put my feet up on the armrest and lie down, counting the number of tiles on the floor. Anything to take my mind off of my unsettling district partner. If there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that this year District Five will be anything but forgettable.

The door creaks open, and I scramble to my feet in surprise. I have a visitor?

A man pops into the room, a peacekeeper closing the door after him. The man has very familiar short-cropped hair and deep-set eyes, a small bruise healing over on his left temple. I'd recognize him anywhere, especially since: 1] I first met him less than 24 hours ago, and 2] He's the reason I'm in this mess.

He stands a few feet away, hands crossed behind his back. "hey...look, I'm sorry about what happened," he says. His voice is quite mellow, in stark contrast to his otherwise rugged appearance. I stare at him, half of me wanting to explode in rage and the other half wanting to break down into tears. Instead, I force myself to remain calm.

"it's okay..." I say, my voice trembling ever so slightly. "it wasn't your fault. You did what anyone else would."

He awkwardly shuffles on his feet, his guilt keeping him from meeting my eyes. I expect him to give up and leave, to run away like he did yesterday, so it catches me completely off-guard when he suddenly throws his arms around me and pulls me into a crushing bear hug. But something's off. This isn't out of guilt, or sorrow, or any other emotion. I can tell.

My suspicion is confirmed when I feel him slide a small piece of paper into my pocket.

"for saving my life. Only open it in the dark," the man whispers into my ear. I give an affirmative nod. The door opens again, the peacekeeper popping his head in.

"time's up." He says, jerking his thumb at the man. The man pulls away, looking at me with the same approving look as the last time we met.

"when you're in that arena, just... keep your eyes and ears open." He says. I nod.

"I will."

The peacekeeper drags him out, leaving me alone with my mind running around like mad. I can feel the little piece of paper in my pocket, surrounded by a million questions. Who _is_ that man? And how did he know I was here?

I'm not left in the room for much longer, and roughly five minutes after the man leaves, I'm taken to the station. I put on my fake charm again for the cameras as I board the train that'll take me back to the Capitol. But on the inside, I couldn't be more terrified.

I can't explain why, but I have a terrible feeling that my father's Games aren't the only ones being played here...

* * *

 **Let me know what you think the man gave her down in the reviews, I'd love to hear your theories (...if anyone's even reading this story, that is.)**


	4. Chapter 4: Of Mentors and Men

**(A/N): Getting a little busy in life, so updates may come slower from now on. I apologize to my non-existent audience.**

* * *

 _Conference Room, District 13._

 _The long table in the middle of the room was barren, save for a few folders scattered on one end. At the head of the table, her young features illuminated by the dim lighting in the room, sat Alma Coin. She tapped her fingernails on the cold metallic surface impatiently._

" _W_ _e can't let her know. Not yet." She said, turning to face the man standing to her left with his arms crossed. He bit back a curse, trying to remain formal._

" _S_ _he needs to know," he stated. Coin wasn't convinced. The Snow girl's intervention had come as quite a surprise, but that did not mean she could be trusted._

" _T_ _here's a good chance she's still loyal to her father. It's just too much risk, Ichor. I trust you've disposed of the letter?" Coin asked, eyeing the man suspiciously. Ichor lifted his chin, throwing on his best poker face._

" _Y_ _es, I have. She won't know about our...plans," he said, his mind going back to his run-in with Aurelia in the Capitol. He wondered, would she have done the same if she'd known who he was?_

 _As Ichor turned around to leave, Coin ordered him to stop. She wouldn't admit to being fond of Ichor, but he'd served her long enough for her to deduce what went on in his mind._

" _T_ _hat being said, it wouldn't hurt to let the poor girl know what to expect in the coming few weeks, would it?" Coin said. Ichor's spirits lifted as he understood._

" _I'll be on my way. District Five, you said?" he asked. Coin nodded, leaning back in her chair._

" _T_ _he reaping will take place in a few hours, you'd better hurry."_

 _With that, Ichor hurried out of the room. He looked at the hand-drawn sketch he'd stolen from the Capitol, reading the labels and notes sprawled around the piece of paper. As he approached the hangar, he stuffed the paper into his pocket, brimming with energy. He knew it wasn't much compensation for the hell Aurelia was going to face in that arena, but he hoped it would somehow help her stay alive._

* * *

I've come to the conclusion that our district escort is going to die of liver failure before we even get to the arena. Isaac disagrees, though. He believes she won't make it to the hotel. The topic was brought up by him, and it's the only thing he's said so far. All my attempts at conversation in the past hour or so have been unsuccessful. Isaac just ignores me, staring at the trees rushing past. He still has an air of creepiness about him, but I can't afford to be scared. I need to know what he's capable of.

I tap my fingers on my thigh, trying to think of something I haven't already tried. I've run all out of icebreakers, and I'm already scraping the bottom of the barrel.

"So...did your parents give you any token? To remind you of home?" I ask. Isaac doesn't even acknowledge that he heard me. But, without saying anything, he pulls out a little locket from inside his shirt and lets it hang outside. It's not a particularly beautiful piece of jewellery, but I'm sure there's a story behind it.

I'm just about to ask Isaac about it when the door to the carriage swings open. A middle-aged man enters, seated on a wheelchair. He appears to be in his late forties and has a receding hairline, dark skin, and a missing right leg. He looks at Isaac and me, beckoning us to the dining table.

I take a seat opposite him. Isaac sits two chairs away from me. The man in the wheelchair clears his throat, taking off his glasses to clean them.

"My name is Elon Wright. I am your mentor for the 47th annual Hunger Games," he says in a satirically formal tone. He laughs dryly, lifting his gaze to meet mine. His disdain at all of this is easy to see. But there's something more in there, something other than the standard hatred towards the Capitol that all past victors share. He's not depressed, he's in despair. Over something recent, by the looks of it. But I can't seem to remember when his games happened. Before I can ask, Isaac speaks up.

"Never heard of you. What happened to the other mentor, victor Amara?" Isaac asks. Elon stares at him, momentarily taken aback, but his expression returns to its neutral state quickly.

"She's dead. Overdosed on her sleeping medicine. Besides, it should interest you to know that I've been a district Five mentor for the past five years," he says.

Isaac narrows his eyes. And then I remember. He _was_ really there, just as a support to the other mentor, a woman named Amara Keeler. He never actually did anything, always keeping to himself. That's why nobody remembers him. His games happened a few years before I was even born. He's one of those boring victors who just faded away, forgotten by everyone. Exactly how father intends me to be after I win. ... _If_ I win.

I'm about to convey the information to Isaac when I realize that I'm not supposed to know that. I'm not Aurelia Snow, who's been to every victory celebration party since her birth. I'm Lise Curie, a poor girl from district Five who's never left her house. So I keep my mouth shut.

Elon observes Isaac and me, his thoughts unreadable. Isaac picks up a knife from the table, twirling it in his hand. He seems to be very comfortable with it.

"So what's our plan? How do you suggest I win?" he asks. Elon frowns, put off by Isaac's tone.

"Don't do anything stupid. That's the best advice I can give you both. And more importantly, try to make some friends, get the crowd's attention," he says. I nod in agreement. I should know better than anyone how important it is to make an impression on sponsors.

Unfortunately, if I'm to play along to father's plan, I _can't_ make an impression.

"Isn't there any way to win without a sponsor's help?" I ask.

Elon places his elbows on the table with a sigh. "It's not just about sponsors, Lise. Even the Gamemakers keep track of public favour. Crowd favourites generally stand the highest chance of winning," he explains. "...but that doesn't mean you absolutely _cannot_ win without outside help. It's just very, very hard."

I press my lips together disappointedly. Isaac begins shuffling the knife between his two hands, the sunlight diffracting off the polished blade. It's an awfully familiar sight. Isaac catches me staring, and thrusts the knife towards me, pretending to take a stab at my face. I flinch, causing him to snicker.

"Any other advice you'd like to share, or was that it?" he asks, turning back to our mentor. Elon narrows his gaze.

"Sometimes some district partners elect to present themselves as close friends - or lovers - to garner more sympathy. That's worked fairly well before," Elon suggests. I glance at Isaac, with the knife in his hand and that murderous glint in his eyes.

 _No thank you._

"I'd rather not..." I say, but trail off at Isaac's glare. He looks furious, as if Elon just insulted his very existence.

"You want me to ally with _her_? She's an idiot! She's about as useful an ally as a piece of wet cardboard!" he bursts, jabbing a finger in my face. I involuntarily gasp at his rudeness. That was _completely_ uncalled for. How dare he!

"You don't even know me, Isaac, how could you say that?" I ask, trying not to look upset.

Elon's frown just deepens. "Calm down, son, it was just a suggestion," he says.

Isaac slams the knife down onto the table, pushing his chair out in anger. "Yeah, well you can stick your suggestions up your ***!" he yells, storming off.

What a jerk.

Elon just shakes his head tiredly, watching as Isaac slams the door shut. "that kid'd better lose the temper before training day," he mutters. He turns to me, staring at me with his unreadable expression. I squirm uncomfortably, but put on a polite smile.

"Erm... is there anything else you'd-"

I'm cut off by the loud, guttural laugh of our ever-graceful district escort, Valeria Richmond. She staggers into the room, a near-empty bottle of wine clutched tightly in her left hand. She plops down onto a chair next to Elon. The stench of alcohol coming off of her is overwhelming.

"Lise Lise, Isaac Lise!" She says with utter conviction, leaving me to wonder what the world must look like when so heavily inebriated. I've never had so much as a sip of alcohol thanks to my father. He threatened to ground me if I was ever caught drinking.

Valeria's gaze falls on me, and her eyes widen comically. She points a finger at me, beckoning Elon to do the same.

"Lise look just like 'Relia! 'Relia Snow, purzident's kiddie!" she exclaims, nodding enthusiastically. I straighten up in surprise, but quickly throw on a mask of modesty before my shock can make itself apparent. How did she recognize me?

"I-I do?" I ask, smiling nervously. A grin plays onto Elon's features, like he's only now seeing the similarities. But he looks more amused than suspicious, thank goodness.

Still, I hurriedly excuse myself from the table and dash straight to my room. I didn't expect my disguise to last forever, but I'd hoped that it would at least work until the actual games began. I'm going to have to be more careful once we reach the Capitol. People _know_ me there.

I sit down at the edge of the soft bed, facing the window. The rolling hills outside have a mesmerizing effect, keeping my mind off what just happened. I look at my reflection on the glass, running a hand through my unkempt hair. I tug at the coarse fabric of the clothes I'm wearing, longing for my old wardrobe at home.

As I fiddle with the loose trousers, something rustles in my right pocket. I suddenly remember my meeting with that mysterious man and his mysterious 'gift'. I stick my hand inside the deep pocket, and my fingers come into contact with an envelope. I bring it out and hold it up in the sunlight. There's a strange seal on it, an emblem I don't recognize.

I scan the envelope for any kind of hint as to what's inside. For all I know, this could be a bomb. The man _was_ a rebel, after all...

But my curiosity overcomes my trepidation, and I break open the strange seal. I'm instantly greeted by the smell of something burning. I drop the thing and dive behind the bed, covering my eyes and ears. But no explosion happens. The envelope falls harmlessly to the floor, a single sheet of paper slipping out of it.

I pick up the paper, my hands still shaky from the false alarm.

There's something written on it, but the bottom half of the letter is burnt to a crisp. I hold the paper with both hands to lessen the trembling, looking closely to read the messy handwriting.

'W _hether or not_ _the games continue past the five-day mark, the operation is to proceed as planned. Resistance will be minimal, victory shall be swift. As for the tributes, if any are still alive by that point, send-...'_

The rest is burned off.

I was only _slightly_ confused before, but now I'm utterly lost. I flip the letter over, hoping for an explanation. But instead, I find myself looking at... er, it's a...

Okay, I don't know what I'm looking at. It's a drawing, a hasty sketch of...something. A large circle, with lots of strange markings and squiggles scattered around inside it. On the upper right hand corner of the paper, outside the circle, is a key that explains all those markings. The zigzag lines around the edges of the drawing are mountains. The diagonal lines are cliff sides. The shaded parts are ponds. The circles are traps...

Wait a minute.

I know what this is. It's not a drawing, it's a map.

This is a map of the arena.

* * *

 **That little third-person section was just to break the flow a little, to add some more development, and to establish the fact that Aurelia isn't safe from death just because she's the narrator. I will gladly have her slaughtered if that's what the story requires :)**

 **Oh, also, our 'mysterious rebel man' now has a name! Bonus points to you if you know what 'Ichor' means.**


	5. Chapter 5: Homecoming

I hate fashion.

There, I said it; I. Hate. Fashion.

Had I said so any time before my life went to hell, I'm sure Tully or Vic or any of my friends would've whacked me on the head. Fashion is THE biggest obsession in the Capitol, only rivalled by the Hunger Games themselves. Stylists and designers are some of the richest people in the country.

But to me it's all noise. Flashy dresses, ridiculous outfits, goofy makeup. Father's always told me that our family has to remain above the masses, a concrete pillar in a sea of pointless trends. And besides, nothing says perfection quite like simplicity. All the fluffy, flamboyant dresses in the world can't match the beauty of an elegant white gown.

...Of course, I'm not going to say all that to my stylist. I have to agree with whatever she proposes. She knows what the general public likes better than I do, so I have to trust her judgement.

As she circles around me, observing every inch of my bare body, I distract myself from my nervousness by examining her in return. She's startlingly young, having joined the Games as a stylist only two years ago. _Lupa Anne-Bogaerde_ , twenty-three years old. Her features are modified to make her more appealing, just like any other Capitolite, but it's different on her. A lot of the other stylists have this over-exaggerated, almost grotesque look: huge lips, pasty skin, plateaus of makeup caked onto their faces. But Lupa's been much more tasteful. I must admit, she's kind of attractive. Which only makes being naked in front of her even more awkward for me.

She comes closer, the corners of her lips curling up. "my, oh my..." she mutters.

"w-what is it?" I ask nervously as Lupa gently runs a hand down my arm.

"I've worked with many clients here in the Capitol, Lise, and let me tell you: your skin is in better condition than most of theirs," she says. She trots over to her dresser, digging about in one of the large drawers under the mirror.

 _She's just being polite_ , I tell myself. I haven't really given much thought to skincare, certainly not as much as some Capitolites.

"ehh... thank you," I say.

Lupa turns back around, pushing the drawer shut behind her. She trots up to me, rubbing a few locks of my hair between her fingers. A smirk plays onto her features as she steps back to get a look at my entirety.

"you know, Lise, there is one skill that _any_ stylist worth their salt will possess..." She says, pushing the stray strands of hair away from my face. She presses one palm on my scalp, the other on my cheek, tilting my head downwards. I'm suddenly very worried.

"and that skill is?" I ask, urging her on.

"...we can always tell when somebody's had alterations done," she completes.

She waits for me to show my surprise, my fear of being recognized. But strangely, all I feel is a slight sense of relief.

"is it that obvious?" I ask with a laugh. Lupa twirls a lock of my hair around her finger, nodding.

"so, do I want to know what you really are?" She asks, raising an eyebrow. I shake my head 'no'. I'm not ready to recount my story.

Lupa looks mildly disappointed, but stows away her curiosity. She steps away and holds her arms out, gesturing for me to put on my robe. I pick the soft white fabric off the floor and drape it on, relishing in the sense of safety it brings.

I follow Lupa to a sitting room next door. There's a short table in the centre, with two sofas on either side, placed perpendicular to the giant floor-to-ceiling window on the left. The glass automatically darkens several shades when we enter, but it still takes my eyes a moment to adjust. Judging by the light, it seems to be well into the afternoon.

Lupa and I take our seats opposite each other. As I'm staring out the window at the glistening buildings, I become aware of a funny feeling in my stomach. It feels... empty. Hollow. Constricted. I've never felt like this before.

Lupa catches on. "hungry, huh?" she asks, smiling amusedly. She presses a button on the side of the table. The top splits open and a tray rises out from underneath, loaded with mountains of food. My stomach growls, causing me to panic momentarily. It's such an alien sensation.

"dig in, you must be starving. I watched your reaping. Didn't look like your family could afford a whole lot of food," Lupa says, her nose scrunching in distaste.

I actually haven't eaten in a long time. My last meal was the lunch I had two days ago. Yesterday gave no opportunity to eat, and my appetite was all but gone during the train ride from district five this morning.

Still, regardless of how ravenously hungry I get, I refuse to let go of my table manners and wolf down too much food. Lupa and I make small talk and get the introductions out of the way while I take small bites every now and then, and very soon I'm full.

"so, Lise, about your chariot costume. Me and Obie- who's your district partner's stylist- agreed to not try the same stunt as last year," she says, slightly embarrassed.

Last year, in an effort to get the most attention, they came up with the idea of masks. Electric masks, hooked up to battery packs on the tributes' belts. Nobody knows what exactly the masks were _intended_ to do, but all they actually did was blow up. The tributes somehow weren't hurt, but the explosion knocked them right off their chariot. Back then it had seemed absolutely hilarious. Now, however...

"This time we're gonna play a little safer," Lupa says, reading my thoughts. "The rules say that we're supposed to put you in something representative of your district's main industry, which in our case happens to be power. But the solar-panel-suit theme has been done to death," she says. She gets up, walking over to the window. I think I know where she's going with this.

"there are other sources of electricity," I state. Lupa smiles approvingly at me.

"yes! Such as wind. Water. ... _Nuclear explosions_."

Her smile stretches into a maniacal grin as she speaks. I gulp. While those certainly sound exciting, I don't like the idea of being _in_ one, especially considering Lupa's explosive track record. How would she even represent something like that that with a dress?

Looking at my scared expression, Lupa bursts into laughter. "oh, I was just kidding! Don't worry, Lise, we're not gonna kill you before the Games even start!" She exclaims.

I politely laugh along, but I can feel the dread rising in my stomach. Dread for the Games. The Hunger Games. What have I gotten myself into? I know what I've gotten myself into, I've been watching the Games for years. I know what happens to tributes like me, unprepared, hopeless. Oh god, how am I going to survive? I have no strategy, no skills that'll help me in the arena! Yes, I have a map, but what good will that do when I'm being disembowelled by a Career or devoured by an angry mutt?! I have _no_ chance of getting out alive! I'm going to _die_! _I'm going to die!_ _I'm going to-_

"Lise."

Lupa's voice pulls me back to my senses. She's kneeling down in front of me, her green eyes filled with concern. I realize that my hands are shaking, and that I've stopped breathing. My heart rate is uncomfortably high, though it's now settling back down.

I take in deep breaths, steadying my heartbeat. Lupa gently places a hand on my shoulder.

"are you alright?" she asks, worried. I nod weakly, giving an unconvincing smile. Lupa doesn't enquire further, much to my relief.

 _What happened to me? I felt so weak... and afraid..._

I shake my head clear of the thoughts, coming back to the present. Lupa hands me a glass of water, and I gulp it down.

"so ab-...about the costume for today evening, what do you have in mind?" I ask. Lupa sits back down on her sofa, still looking a bit worried.

"Obie's planning to give Isaac something representing a hydroelectric generator. And as for you, you'll be representing wind turbines. Does that sound okay to you?" she asks. I nod, slightly unsure about the idea. I hope she isn't planning to just strap a giant fan onto my back...

I hope my stylist isn't an idiot.

* * *

I was wrong.

Oh _BOY_ , was I wrong. Lupa isn't an idiot, I am. For ever doubting her abilities. She's a bloody genius. Her hands are magic.

"how is it? Not too tight, I hope?" she asks. I take another look in the mirror, jaw hanging slightly open. 'Stunning' doesn't even come close to describing what I'm wearing.

It's almost as if Lupa read my mind. The dress itself is a simple white affair, but Lupa's added an intricate pattern of sparkling yellow and gold wires to it, woven in such a way that it paints a mural of the sun setting on what I'm assuming is District Five. The train of the dress fades into a lake reflecting the golden sunlight. A tiara rests on my head, vaguely resembling the victor's crown. But she didn't stop there. She added a cape, a flowing white fabric that extends all the way to my heels. Once the chariots are in motion, the cape will create the illusion of intense winds and snow. A blizzard, in essence. Also, much to my displeasure, the wires that form the design are fully functional and linked to a battery that's strapped to my thigh, hidden under the dress. A series of tiny, reflective metal plates are spread across the torso region, but Lupa won't tell me what they're for. She keeps promising that "it'll be great!", and that "it definitely won't blow up, I swear!".

I only agreed because I figured that if I'm to die anyways, being blown to bits would be much quicker and less agonizing than anything that'll happen in the arena. And besides, it's SUCH an amazing dress that I can't complain.

"oh, we'd better get going," Lupa says, helping me slip on the high-heels. She offered simple flat shoes, claiming that it would be difficult to balance on the moving chariot, but I know I can handle it.

Just as we leave the prep room, Isaac and his team of stylists march up to us from their side of the floor. Looking at what Isaac's wearing, my confidence in Lupa's skill skyrockets. If I didn't already know Isaac, I would surely be feeling sorry for him.

He's in a body-hugging, sea-blue unitard. Images of gears and turbines spinning amidst crashing waves are littered around him arbitrarily. He also has a blue cape and steel gloves, making him look like some kind of goofy superhero. The only thing detracting from his overall image of silliness is the furious scowl on his face.

"you look nice," I say to him, smiling as genuinely as I can. Lupa stifles a giggle, giving Obie a congratulatory pat on the back. Isaac pushes me aside, taking up residence against the back wall of the elevator. Everyone else stuffs in, and we descend down to the bottom level of the Remake Centre, which is really just a glorified stable.

As soon as the doors open, I find myself face-to-face with a giant, muscular chest. I look up to see a chiseled face and a pair of bright blue eyes staring down at me. It's the boy from district two, Arctus Bennington. He looked much smaller on tv. And much less threatening. His biceps are as big as my entire head...

"out of my way," Isaac growls, storming past the colossal boy without so much as a second glance.

"hey, watch it!" Arctus complains. He turns back to me with his angry stare. I flash an apologetic smile, then scurry away from him as fast as my heels allow. I catch up to Isaac at our designated chariot. He's seated on the edge, arms crossed, glaring at everyone that looks his way. At this rate he'll have made enemies with every single tribute in here. As rude as he was on the train, I don't want to see my district partner become a lonely loser, or worse- a complete sociopath.

"what's gotten you so upset, Isaac?" I ask, putting some kindness behind my words. "what's wrong?"

He turns to me, his eyes ablaze. "what's wrong? _What's wrong?!_ I'm being sent to my death for some shitty old rebellion that I had no part in, my stylist is a buffoon, and he's hell-bent on making me look like one too! And to top it off, I can't ally with my district partner because it just happens to be _you_ , you... you worthless _idiot_! I was counting on you to help me in the Games, but no! They just had to pair me with the stupidest bimbo Panem has to offer!"

I just stand there, stunned. That _hurt_. That-...that was too far. _Too_ far. Whatever little sympathy I had for Isaac evaporates, replaced by a sudden burning feeling of hatred. This is how he wants things to be? Fine then.

"well, I'm sorry for trying to be nice to you, Isaac. I won't anymore," I say with venom in my voice. Isaac snorts, but he doesn't miss the underlying threat in my words. I ball my fists, shaking in anger. I just want to choke the life out of his-

"Lise, Isaac, take your places! It's Showtime!" Lupa barges in. I climb onto the chariot, standing on my spot next to Isaac, both of us still seething. Lupa applies some final touches to my makeup, then steps away to admire her work.

"wow, you two look... fierce. Try to smile a bit though, Lise. Fury doesn't suit you," she comments.

There's a short siren, and the gates slide open. The orange light of the setting sun floods the warehouse, accompanied by the deafening cheers of a hundred thousand rabid fans. The chariots start moving out one by one, each one met with roaring applause. Just as district four rolls out and it's our turn to go, Lupa suddenly speaks up.

"don't be alarmed when the sparks fly!" she warns. Before I can ask, our horses start running. As soon as we exit the stable, the sheer noise of the crowd drowns out everything else. I put on my practiced smile, waving to the audience. I spot a few familiar faces- classmates, friends. They don't seem to recognize me. I glance at Isaac, who's just standing with his arms crossed, managing to look bored. His cape resembles a tidal wave, billowing out behind him.

The sun slowly descends below the buildings, its last rays turning the sky a deep shade of purple. The moment the sky's colors change, the battery on my leg whirs to life. Electricity shoots through the gold wires, and my dress completely transforms. The gold and yellow patterns turn icy blue, sparkling with power. Arcs and flashes of electricity spread from the tiny metal plates, shooting through the air around me. Isaac's suit does the same, his metal gloves surrounded by a powerful glow. The audience gasps, then loses it completely. I spot myself on one of the displays, glowing, surrounded by a blizzard of lightning and pure power. I look spectacular. I look _invincible_.

We pull up to the end of the chariot roadway, all the twelve districts arranged in a semicircle around the President's mansion. Around my home.

With the battery depleted, the sparks die down, and my dress returns to its normal sunset state. But my attention has shifted, something else now filling my brain. Memories. Staring at that balcony, I remember the times I used to play there as a child. Up to last year, I always stood right beside father as he delivered his speech.

He stands alone now, reading off the cards with his gaze fixed on a point far away from me, unfocused and distracted. His words fly past my ears, unheard. I glare at him, silently willing him to just look at me, for the last time before I'm taken away from here forever.

Father promised to help me, didn't he? He said that he'll have my back in the arena. Then why won't he look at me? Is he so confident in my survival that he's convinced we'll be reunited?

If only I were naive enough to believe that. No, Father refuses to acknowledge me because he's given up hope. He _knows_ I'm going to die. He's sparing himself from the pain of having to admit it.

 _My father has given up on me._

"...And so, with gratitude, we welcome you: this year's tributes. May you bring great fortune to your districts. To your families."

 _I'm on my own. I understand that now. Father cannot help me. Nobody can._

"May your aim be true, and your blades be sharp,"

 _I'm going into the arena alone. And I will come out alone. I_ will _come out, alive._

"and as always,"

Father's eyes finally lock with mine. He hangs his head down ever so slightly, and that one tiny gesture is enough to convey his every thought.

"May the odds... be ever in your favour."

The corner of my lip curls up in a half-smile.

 _Don't worry, father._

 _They will be._

* * *

 **Whew, that took a while to write. Apologies for the late update. If you're out there, reading this, drop a review so I know you exist :)**

 **P.s: What did you guys think of the dress?**


	6. Chapter 6: One Step Closer

**IT'S AURELIA'S BIRTHDAY TODAY! As in, July 11. Not in the story.**

 **Oh, and one warning: There be ANGST in this chapter. I tried to keep it under control, but let's be honest- Rel's just a teenager with very recently-developed daddy issues and a constant sense of impending doom, whose life went from near-Utopian straight down to the gutter. I'd imagine angst comes naturally in such situations...**

* * *

 _Tribute Centre, The_ _Capitol_. 

I can see my house from up here. Or, y'know, what _was_ my house. Those magnificent lawns and marble halls are now as distant as the twinkling stars looking down at us from the depths of space, billions of lightyears away.

I watch my breath fog the glass, staring past my reflection at the glimmering city outside, at the domed building where I know Father will be sitting at his desk and reading. I pray for a miracle to carry my thoughts to him so he may hear me now.

 _Father, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I did this to you, and I'm sorry to say that there's been a change of plans_.

Lupa has made me memorable. No, more than that, she's made me a _contender_. It's as if a switch inside me has been flipped. So far I'd been banking on the assurance that father had a plan for me. But now that I know that's not the case, that I'm on my own, I feel free. Now, I'm dependent on my own abilities. But, more importantly, now I can play this game _my_ way. I can make my own plan.

"Lise?"

Valeria knocks at my door. I peel myself off the glass and trot across the room to the door, sliding the heavy wooden panel open. Valeria waves enthusiastically, though I'm barely three feet away from her. She seems to be drunk as usual. I'm having my doubts, though. Maybe this is just how she _is_ , no alcohol involved.

"d-dinner…food…" she mutters dreamily, her attention already floating away. I follow her down the hallway to the dining room, where a banquet table is set up, loaded with more food than a party of twenty could ever hope to eat. Around the table are seated Lupa, Obie, their teams, Elon, and Isaac. Valeria announces our entry with a loud hic, slumping into the empty chair next to Obie. I take a seat next to Lupa, unfortunately right in front of Isaac. He stares daggers at me, and I return the look. I'm not afraid of him anymore. He's not creepy, or a psychopath, or some kind of dangerous pseudo-career. No, he's just a massive jerk.

Everyone digs in to the food, filling their plates with the intricate dishes and colorful confections. Most of the dishes I recognize. Some I've even tried cooking once or twice, though it didn't go so well… I remember it taking a week to scrape all the cheese off the kitchen ceiling after I tried to cook some pasta.

"Everyone shut up, it's starting!" Lupa suddenly announces. All eyes turn to the tv on the wall as Caesar Flickerman's ecstatic voice fills the room. He appears on screen, alongside his new co-host and announcer for the Games, Claudius Templesmith.

" _Welcome, welcome! Let's skip the boring talking and go straight to the Recap of the Tribute Parade that happened earlier this evening, shall we? Let me tell ya, folks, there were some_ shocking _costumes for sure this year! Quite an_ electrifying _display!"_

Several terrible puns later, footage of the first chariots rolling out begins to play, accompanied by a mellowed-out version of the national anthem. Everyone waits with bated breaths, leaning closer towards the screen as district four performs a tango on their chariot. The lack of attention they received for that display is criminal.

But then, the object of everyone's anticipation emerges from the hangar, and I'm surprised again by how fearsome I look. Clever camera angles perfectly juxtapose the sunset on my dress with the actual one in the sky. The moment our suits activate, the lighting changes and the music picks up tempo. Not by much, just enough to emphasize the already stunning effect the costumes have. I wasn't wrong earlier. Even now, on such a tiny screen, I can still feel that sense of invincibility, like I could bring down the sky if I wanted to. Lupa and Obie exchange congratulatory pats on the back, beaming with pride. Lupa deserves all the praise in the world for this.

Thankfully, the recap cuts off before father's speech. The screen cuts back to Caesar, smiling so wide it's almost painful to look at.

" _What a jackpot we've scored this year, eh? Look at these tributes! I'm afraid that's all for tonight, folks. But fret not, for we will return to you next week when the tributes get a little one-on-one time with me on stage:- that's right, the Interviews!"_

As soon as the screen switches off, the room bursts into acclamation. Valeria for some reason decides that the best way to express her excitement is to holler incoherently at the top of her lungs. Both the stylist teams congratulate each other. Even Isaac has a shadow of a smile on his face. Elon comments about how he had to wear something horrible in his year. By the time the cheers die down, Lupa looks dangerously close to collapsing. But she perks right back up when the servants arrive with tall glasses of wine. I politely refuse, but everyone else takes the deep purple drink readily.

Valeria raises her glass, clearing her throat. "To Isaac… and Lise!" she trills.

Everyone sips on the wine while eating, chattering and smiling about our wonderful start. Obie and Valeria shift closer and closer, eventually ending up practically on top of each other. Elon and Lupa make polite conversation, bringing me in to their discussion about how sunsets in district five look much less exciting than what Lupa portrayed. I just rephrase whatever Elon says, because I have no clue what district five's sunsets look like.

The Avoxes swoop in and refill any empty glass they see, and it doesn't take long for Isaac to become tipsy. He must've had three or four glasses already. He guzzles down one more before he finally reaches his limits. He has a stupid grin on his face, he's lost control of his fingers, and he's turning red like he's about to throw up.

"Oh dear, I'd better get him to his room before he…"

"No, I'll take him." I cut in to Obie's offer. Elon gives me a funny look, quietly asking me what I'm up to. I shrug my shoulders. There's no answer, I don't know what I'm doing. I'm still upset about that insult Isaac hurled at me earlier. So why am I helping him? Maybe I'm trying to prove that I'm a better person than Isaac... Besides, holding grudges is not my thing.

I pull Isaac to his feet, throw his arm over my shoulder, and slowly move away from the table. He's heavier than he looks. He sways and stumbles and refuses to use his own feet, so I end up having to drag him across the floor all the way to his room. I shove him inside and slam shut the door just moments before he starts expelling the copious amounts of food and alcohol he consumed. It's funny- the sound he's making almost sounds like he's yelling "RUTH!" over and over...

I leave him to his devices and head over to my room, eyeing the bed with sleepy eyes. But just as I set one foot in, Elon comes towards me from the dining room. I regard him with a friendly smile, pretending not to notice the suspicion in his eyes.

"Hello. Were you looking to speak to Isaac? Because I'm afraid he's a little… preoccupied," I say. As if on cue, a loud thump comes from Isaac's room, followed by an 'I'm okay!'

Elon doesn't look too amused. "No, _Lise_ , I came to speak to you." He states. His tone indicates that what he wants to say isn't something the Capitol would like to hear. I scan the hallway. There are probably a dozen cameras on us right now. We need a safer place to talk, somewhere we won't be spied on. And I know _just_ the place for that.

"Well, I was just about to get some fresh air, you can join me if you wish. All that wine, you see, it's getting to my head…" I say. Elon narrows his gaze, but then understands.

We get into the elevator and go straight up. To the roof of the tribute centre. Father used to tell me about how rarely it was ever used, how much we spent every year taking care of a garden nobody ever saw. That's mainly why they never bothered putting surveillance up here, it would just be unnecessary expenditure.

The moment the doors open, the cold wind that rushes in startles me. But Elon drags me out, seemingly impatient. He looks around the garden, scanning the area for any cameras or microphones.

"There's nobody else here," I state. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

Elon fiddles with his glasses for a while, then takes them off altogether.

"Who are you?" he asks, getting straight to the point.

I'm not surprised. Elon seemed smart when I first saw him, I should've known he'd figure out that something was off about me.

Still, I raise an eyebrow and tilt my head a little, pretending to look confused.

"I'm Lise. You just used my name barely a minute ago, Elon." I state. But I can tell by his expression that my acting isn't very convincing.

He beckons me to sit down on a small cinder block lying next to his wheelchair. I do, keeping my eyes on the streetlights below to avoid his gaze.

"Look, kid, you'll be going into the arena no matter what happens. And my job is to help you stay alive in there. But how am I supposed to help you and give you what you need when I don't even know who you are?" he explains.

I take a shaky breath. This was not supposed to happen. This wasn't in the plan. Father told me to-…

 _Father is gone. We're on our own_ , I remind myself. Whatever plans were made have been abandoned.

"Right, I'm sorry… I've been lying to you. A lot, actually."

Elon leans closer, sensing the shift in my disposition. "Go on," he urges.

I take a deep breath. How much do I need to reveal? If I want Elon to do everything in his ability to get me out alive, how much does he need to know?

We know the answer to that question, don't we?

 _Deep breaths..._

"My name… my name is Aurelia Snow."

Elon stares at me with his usual unreadable expression. But then, his eyes widen and he shifts backwards in his seat. He unsuccessfully attempts to mask his surprise. "I don't appreciate such tasteless jokes," he warns. I laugh dryly.

"Me neither. Good thing I'm not joking then, isn't it?"

He rubs a hand on his balding head, scratching the stubble on his cheek.

"I don't know what-…I don't know what to say. You're… you're THE Aurelia Snow?" He whispers incredulously. "You seriously want me to believe you? Prove it."

I snort. How foolish of me, I should've expected him to be a tiny bit sceptical of something like this.

"I understand your hesitation. Alright, here: I'll bet you didn't know that every girl President Snow ever dated has ended up dead."

That's something father once told me when he noticed I'd been growing close to a boy in eighth grade. He said- _"My dear, you must be very careful who you lend your trust to. It's disheartening to see how many of your so-called 'friends' try to extort and blackmail you when you're all grown up and in power."_

...Now that I think about it, that wasn't a very nice thing to say to a thirteen-year-old.

"There's no way to check that, you could very easily have made it up right now," says Elon with a shake of his head.

I try to think of something else, something no ordinary citizen would know.

"Uh….. There was a secret rebel hunt in all the districts last year. Even the victor's villages were searched. Except that the mission was terribly unsuccessful and never reached district five. It didn't even make it past the slums in district two."

That gets his attention. He puts his glasses back on, eyeing me curiously.

"It _did_ reach district five," he states.

"No, I remember clearly, my father told me that the hunt was-"

"Looks like lying runs in the family, then."

I frown. That was uncalled for. But hey, at least he's accepted my true identity now. I'm assuming that's what he meant.

I rest my head against the bamboo tree to my left, aware of how drowsy I feel. It must be close to twelve thirty right now.

"...Aurelia Snow…" Elon mutters with a long exhale. "How did someone like you even end up in such a situation?"

I scoot closer to Elon, absently watching the crowds below as I recount my story, beginning from the moment I stepped out of my house that morning. Slowly, as I explain everything, Elon's uncertainty wears off. He blinks a few times and stares up into the sky as he takes it all in. I'm thankful for the silence. The feeling of guilt that rises every time I think of that peacekeeper is coming in full swing right now, amplified by my despair and fear and plain _anger_. Why did she have to pull the knife out? Why didn't she follow the rules? Why couldn't she just obey the _goddamn_ rules?! _Why couldn't you just do what you were told to?!_

"So you're not scared of being recognized?" Elon suddenly asks. "The Games tend to bring out the worst of people, after all. You're sure your façade will hold up under that much stress?"

I pretend to think for a moment. After the talk we just had, I believe I should be comfortable enough with Elon to share my honest thoughts. He needs to know me well if he's to help me survive.

"Oh, I _am_ scared. I'm bloody terrified," I say, resting my head on my hands. "I mean, can you imagine the kind of chaos that would spread if the whole nation were to find out what's happening right now?"

Elon chuckles. "With all due respect, _Miss Snow_ , I don't think the nation as a whole cares about you that much. These folks in the Capitol might adore you, but do you honestly believe some poor seam kid from district twelve would even know that you exist?" he asks.

I prepare to respond with a polite 'screw you', but then I realize that he's probably right. I've only ever left the Capitol once, and that was yesterday. I tended to avoid the press whenever I could, and father never made it public that he wishes to pass the reins to me once his term comes to an end. So it _is_ highly unlikely that the outer districts know enough about me to be upset that I'm about to die...

 _But that's not what's worrying us, is it?_

I shiver as my chest suddenly gets a few degrees colder.

 _Oh god, it's happening again?_

"If I-… If I die in there, i-in the Arena…" I'm forced to pause, choked by a familiar sense of sheer dread, having to remind myself to keep breathing.

What's happening to me, why can't I control my emotions? I can't afford to have an anxiety attack every time I think about the games! How am I going to form a strategy if I can't even hear the word 'Arena' without freaking out?

Elon puts a hand on my shoulder to comfort me. Though his voice isn't any softer than usual, he feels warm. Much warmer than I am.

"I'll do my best to make sure you don't die, Aurelia. I promise."

' _I promise'_. _Just_ the wrong words to say.

The lump in my throat breaks free, overwhelming me with a rush of distress and a painfully rapid heartbeat. I try to get up and run for the elevator, but I collapse two steps in. The world takes gives way as the night sky and all of its billions of galaxies and stars come crashing down onto my head. There's just too much happening, I can't-… I can't h-handle this… I'm not strong enough t-to-…

Elon watches confusedly from his seat as I lay on the cold ground, crying my eyes out. I weep and weep for what feels like hours, letting go of all the feelings I've held captive since forever. I'm pathetic, weak, _stupid_. _I'm going to die._ _I_ deserve _to die._

"Kid, calm down! You're okay for now, you're safe!" Elon says, trying to pull me to my feet. "Aurelia, please stop crying?"

I force my legs to life, taking support from Elon's wheelchair as I shakily stand up. My face is red and wet, my nose stuffy, my entire body shivering. I try to utter a 'sorry', but it comes out as a pathetic squeak. Elon looks at me with a concerned gaze.

I slowly straighten myself up, battling my constricted ribcage for air. It's not over yet. I'm still dizzy, my vision is blurred, and my heart refuses to settle down. I can feel another wave coming. I rush into the elevator, slamming the button marked '5'. Ten seconds later the doors open to our floor of the building, and Valeria's heavily made-up face welcomes me. I push past her, making a beeline for my room. I slam the door shut just as the next wave of panic rolls over me and my legs turn to mush. I crash onto the floor right beside my bed, one hand on my chest, the other fumbling for something to hold on to. My tear ducts run empty, but the fear and vulnerability persists, undoing everything I'd done to convince myself I had a chance. I _don't_ have a chance. I will not make it out of this mess alive.

I lay on the floor for what feels like an eternity, sobbing myself to sleep. This is what I am... a crying, terrified mess, with a 0% chance of survival and no skills to speak of. I was stupid earlier, when I got mad at Isaac for insulting me.

Because Isaac was absolutely right.


End file.
